


the pit

by yhighon



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, its all a metaphor babey, not technically but i'm adding it anyways just in case, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yhighon/pseuds/yhighon
Summary: Dream sits at the edge of a pit, contemplating. To fall in, to self-destruct, always on the edge of ending it. Never quite reaching death, always at the brink.(in which I project onto Dream for a thousand words)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 117





	the pit

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh tw lmao

Dream finds himself standing at the edge of the pit. His toes curl over the edge in his socks, the wind blowing through his clothes, trying to push him in. 

At the bottom of the pit, there are spikes, and a dirty mattress. Somehow, it’s the most inviting thing he’s ever seen. Pieces of the stone crumble under his feet, fall into the pit. He wishes he were falling with them. 

The wind bites at his face, and the pit promises that there isn’t any wind inside of it. 

He moves impossibly closer, sitting down on the edge and letting his feet dangle in air. The wind continues it’s howling assault, and his fingers are going numb. He doesn’t move, watching as leaves brush past.

He isn’t supposed to be here. He’d promised, told his friends that it was going to be better, that he was going to be better, fix his mistakes and fix himself.

The true solution would be to end this run. Restart.

But he can’t take his friends with him. Selfishly, he’ll hang onto this, hang onto people who would be better off without him. Easier, that way. Some part of him wants to push them away, so that they won’t be hurt when he inevitably falls into the pit. Another part of him grabs them, holding onto them with what strength he has left. 

Even if he does throw himself into the pit, it won’t kill him. It’ll pull him under, hold him there until he feels like he can’t breathe, allowing just enough air for him to take a breath, for him to survive. The pit will hurt him, cut him up into a million tiny pieces to be thrown around like confetti.

People always pretend to like confetti. The cleanup is messy.

The pit doesn’t promise death. It promises unending pain, followed by a sense of apathy that is nothing but wrong. People will notice that he’s in the pit, maybe throw down a tiny rope to help him, to hang himself with. 

Many others will walk along the edges, and will ignore his crying from the bottom. They’ve been here before. 

His friends will do their best. They’ll reach their hands down into the pit, in a futile attempt to get to him, pull him out. Dream already knows they’ll fail. That he’ll have to climb out himself.

“Grab my hand!” They’ll say, but their hands are always so far away, just out of grasp. He doesn’t reach for them anymore.

Dream inches closer, looks down into the pit again. The spikes remain, still bloody from last time. Their sharp points are less sharp, less ready to cut deep, although he knows they will just the same. The mattress remains, a single blanket thrown on top of it like a raft.

It’s a fitting place for him. He would call it his deathbed, but he won’t die. Won’t be able to escape that easily. The spikes will never kill him, his luck too great for them to go too deep and wound him too much. There is always more blood for his body to give, a seemingly endless supply.

He should count himself lucky, that death is always a little too far away, always a little ways past the horizon. Should consider himself fortunate that he has friends willing to look down at him from the edges, offer their support.

It would just be easier to die.

“Dream!” Someone calls out. He looks up from his staring contest with the bottom of the pit, looks across the edges to find Sapnap standing on the other side, quickly making his way over to him. The other man sits next to him, pulling him back from the edge. 

“Hey.” Dream says, his voice cracking. When was the last time he’d spoken to someone other than himself? Escaped the echo chamber of his own skull?

“Hey, man. You okay?” Sapnap asks. 

“Yeah.” He lies through his teeth, too exhausted to even attempt to make a more convincing lie. Sapnap doesn’t seem convinced, but that’s okay. Dream can throw himself into the pit when he leaves, dive headfirst into his own downfall. 

Sapnap puts an arm around Dream’s shoulders, pulling him close. He holds him tightly, like he’s trying to push the pieces back together. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks, and Dream never knows how to answer that kind of question. Never sure whether he asks out of genuine intentions or merely to get him to speak, segue into another topic, dance above the hot coals.

“There never is.” Dream says. Sapnap holds him impossibly tighter. He’s warm, solid. Dream presses closer, cold. The wind blows more rocks into the pit, larger pieces of stone and gravel.

He wonders if the wind could blow them both into the pit.

They sit there for longer than Dream would think possible, rocks digging into their legs and wind whipping at exposed skin.

“I have to go.” Sapnap says, and Dream nods. 

“Okay.”

“Are you going to be okay? You should come with me.” Sapnap says, and Dream looks at the pit again. Looks at his friend’s face, concerned.

“It’s okay. I’ll stay here.” He replies, content to stay under the grey sky, to fight the pit until it drags him in. (He wishes he could pretend that it would be unwillingly.)

“Okay. I love you.” Sapnap says. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he starts to leave.

“I love you too.” Dream says. He watches Sapnap retreat, off to sunny skies and fluffy white clouds.

The sky above him is also covered in clouds, but they’re a deep grey, ready to begin an assault of rain at any moment.

He moves back to his vigil at the edge of the pit. It starts to rain, leaving him soaked.

For a while, he sits in the rain, letting the weather assault him, teaming up with the wind to make him freeze to death, chilled to the bone. He shivers in silence.

The pit mocks him. He looks down at the bottom, sees nothing but his own face reflected back. 

He’s so tired. Exhausted. Exhausted from what, he isn’t sure. Dream only knows it keeps getting harder, a break seeming further and further on the horizon.

With a push, he falls. He lands in the pit with a splash, water breaking his fall.

It feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at 3am when i was not having a poggers time :D
> 
> wasn't gonna post it originally but fuck it yolo bitch
> 
> but yee i am literally just projecting onto dream for 1k words bc i am big sad :D bonus points if u can guess who i projected onto sapnap
> 
> anyway have a good day/night, don't fall back into ur bullshit


End file.
